


No light, no light

by littletechiebird



Category: DCU, DCU - Comicverse
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-30
Updated: 2012-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-02 18:37:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/372087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littletechiebird/pseuds/littletechiebird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Request: Clark/Bruce;; No light, No light by Florence and the Machine</p>
            </blockquote>





	No light, no light

It was the first night. Not since that horrific day, but since he had come to this room. Alone.

All of his meetings for the last two weeks had either been cancelled or were kept very short when they could only be handled by him, one way or another. The rest of them, and any consultations were left to be done by Lucius Fox through detailed e-mails, or in person if he so chose. 

Bruce didn’t care. He wasn’t worried. He had too much else that was threatening to break him. 

Like the sight of that empty bed.

The covers should have already been drawn back. There should have been a lump on the left side of the mattress.

The silence in the room.

He should have been getting some ridiculous tease by now, or ramblings that were of no consequence, or even about the saves that he had made that day - though he would have already known about each and every one.

Those were just two of the things that he came home to at the end of the night, near the start of the morning. Each and every time, Clark waited up for him. Blue eyes always immediately opened to watch him even before he entered the room. Blue eyes that were so vibrant and full of life - brighter than the sky on the clearest day.

He wasn’t one for poetry.. but it was true.

There were times that he would nearly voice those ridiculous things, words that were so unlike him, but he left them to his thoughts. He never worried too much about it, because it seemed like he was understood anyway. Understood because he knew that he did not allow himself to feel in fear of what would happen if he did. He always seemed to try to be changing that, just a little and not too much.

The morning had been something he had once dreaded in a way, because at times that was the hardest. It was when things slowed down, it was when fatigue would most set in, and the one part of his life, which appealed to him less and less at times, would call for his attention. The life of Bruce Wayne, when anymore he had much more offered to him when he was just The Batman.  _He_  had been the one to bring the two parts of his life together and make it bearable again. Morning hadn’t been so bad when there was a warmth in the bed that didn’t fade away when you pulled back the covers. A warmth that wrapped around you - when you wanted it to or not. He had grown… attached.

Now he was left fearing the night and the morning. The night, because there was one less person on his side. Because at the end of the night, there was no longer waiting. The morning because there was no more warmth. The cold biting as soon as the blankets were pulled back to slap him with reality. Because he was gone.

Every time he closed his eyes, he was screaming out to try and reach the man, as if it would bring life back to the eyes that had lost it completely. As if maybe his own screaming would wake him from what had to be a nightmare - as a whole. None of it could be real. Maybe it was a drug, even. Or a horrid, fearful hallucination.

But he didn’t get to choose what made up his reality, and make it stay, and what was dreams that would just fade away.

Even though he would give anything, or everything.

He stood in the doorway, wondering if he could even take a step into the room. Or maybe he should have gone out as well, in stead of allowing Robin and Nightwing to handle things. Then he wouldn’t have had to try and face this again. He could have worked in stead of slept.

But he had been told that he needed it. He supposed, on some level, there was the possibility that it was true. A few more hours without it, and he’d have to be working through hallucinations.

“Master Bruce.”

He did not turn as he heard the voice from behind him. He could not handle the conversation that he, and so many others, were waiting to have with him. He could not have it. He didn’t want it. What did they want him to say?

That he had lost someone he had loved — again?

That he was becoming what he had been trying not to?

That he had not been able to do the one thing he had wanted to?

That there was just.. no light at all?

They wanted insight on what he was thinking. Some revelation on what was on his mind, as it weighed so heavily on his heart, so they could create, and help him reach, a resolution. They wanted to make him “right”.

“Are you alright?”

  
What did he want him to say?

If he could just… tell him.

Because this was just a conversation that he couldn’t have tonight.


End file.
